Fionnuala Does Ferelden
by NolaCousland
Summary: Fionnuala Cousland grew to adulthood learning to fight, lead men in battle, and navigate Fereldan politics. Betrayal on a personal and national level combined with a new Blight means that she must use all of these skills to not only save her own life, but the lives of everyone in Thedas.


Trepidation was not the primary emotion that Fionnuala Cousland usually experienced when Father summoned her. Most of the time he had an entertaining tale to tell or a task to complete or, more recently, he wanted to ask her opinion on matters pertaining to the teyrnir.

However… Father's instruction that she be "appropriately attired" meant that this was Official Noble Business. She was also summoned to the Great Hall rather than Father's office. Attending Father in the Great Hall "appropriately attired" had only ever meant one thing: someone's son was here.

Arl Howe's forces were due to arrive any day now so the likelihood that the son in question was Thomas Howe was very high. Thomas was _sixteen_, for the Maker's sake – how could her parents even _think_ that she would consider a match with someone so young?

But – perhaps it was something else. No need to get herself worked up and angry with Mother and Father for something they hadn't even done yet.

Perhaps Father just wanted her to look pretty to inspire the men. Surely a bath and a dress would make them forget that she'd spent most of her life smacking them with a longsword. She would suddenly transform into a symbol of the maidenly virtue they marched off to defend.

Masculine voices leaked through the door as she approached the Great Hall. Andraste's flaming smallclothes, one of them was Arl Howe. Squaring her shoulders to ensure proper bearing, she raised the latch on the heavy wooden door and tried to keep her face impassive. Father was there, as was Arl Howe, but there were no Howe boys in sight. Nathaniel wouldn't have been so bad, but he was still in the Free Marches somewhere, wasn't he?

It seemed that they were all business discussing plans for the march south to Ostagar.

"I'll send my eldest off with my men. You and I will ride tomorrow, just like the old days!" Father sounded thrilled at the idea of riding off to battle again – he never seemed quite so animated as when he retold the tales of their efforts to put King Maric back on his throne.

Arl Howe smiled with what she assumed was false indulgence. "True. Though we both had less grey in our hair then. And we fought Orlesians, not… monsters."

She had never liked Arl Howe and couldn't understand what, other than nostalgia, caused her father to consider him a friend. Since she had, as Mother put it, "blossomed into womanhood" Howe's attentions had been more of the leering sort when her parents weren't nearby.

Father chuckled. "At least the smell will be the same." He noticed her presence when she stepped into his peripheral vision. "Oh – I'm sorry, Pup, I didn't see you there. Howe, you remember my daughter, Fionnuala?"

Howe tilted his head slightly, which was less deference than he should have showed her given their difference in station. "I see she's become a lovely young woman. Pleased to see you again, my dear."

She ignored the shiver the man's look sent down her spine and replied as diplomatically as possible. "And you, Arl Howe."

Howe was terrible, as always, at picking up on subtle conversational cues, and apparently took her civil greeting as an invitation for further talk. "My son Thomas asked after you. Perhaps I should bring him with me next time?"

Not this again. She'd hoped that Thomas's absence would spare her the marriage talk, but it wasn't to be. "I'm flattered, Arl Howe, but I've no interest in an arranged marriage."

Father cleared his throat, indicating his displeasure at her blunt response. As always, however, he tried to diffuse the tension with affable humor. "See what I content with, Howe? You can't tell my fierce girl anything these days. Maker bless her heart."

Howe couldn't, or wouldn't, take the hint. "Quite talented, I'm sure. One to watch."

What in the name of Maferath's beard did _that_ mean?

Father allowed the strange statement to pass without comment. "At any rate, Pup, I summoned you here for a reason. While your brother and I are away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

That was interesting and unexpected. She couldn't think of anything else to say but "I'll do my best, Father" and dipped her head.

"Now, that's what I like to hear." She could hear the pride in his voice and was happy that she hadn't provoked him further. "There's also someone you must meet. Please… show Duncan in."

As they waited for the guard to retrieve this Duncan, whoever he was, she resigned herself to small talk with Howe. He immediately turned the topic back to Thomas.

"Thomas saw you at a Denerim fair and has talked about you ever since. Ah, the young and their infatuations. To be honest, I have no expectations. And your father seems determined to let you find your own way. If something did happen… well, we'd address it as befits a family of our stature."

Even if Thomas was tolerable and of an age with her, she couldn't think of anything she'd like less than to live under this man's roof. "Again, Arl Howe, I have no interest. Thomas is sixteen, is he not? I'm five years his senior."

"Your father's permissiveness has made you willful, indeed. It may not always serve you so well."

Well, wasn't _he_ full of enigmatic statements today?

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Willfulness is often an essential trait in a leader of men. Was King Maric not willful when you and Father fought with him to restore Ferelden?"

Howe's eyes widened and she was sure he would take her to task for daring to compare herself to Maric the Savior. "Ah, yes. He was single-minded in his determination to drive the Orlesians out of Ferelden – and as they say, he was larger than life and twice as tall. The years since his death have not held the same promise. It's too bad Cailan isn't half that."

This was a surprisingly candid admission form the normally circumspect Howe. "You don't think much of King Cailan?"

"I think of him as much as he thinks at all." Howe's lip curled in distaste.

Father had a genuine fondness for King Cailan, so it didn't surprise her that he chose to interrupt and stop Howe before he said something potentially treasonous. "That's enough, Howe. You speak of our king."

"The girl did ask, your Lordship, as per the latitude you allow. I merely offered my opinion." He sneered at Nola as soon as Father turned his attention toward the door on the opposite side of the hall, which had just opened.

She was not to going to let him blame her for his own rash words. "I didn't ask you to speak ill of the king, ser. Surely you are man enough to take responsibility for your own opinions?"

Any response Howe might have made was cut off when a tall, swarthy man wearing the distinctive blue and white striped tabard of the Grey Wardens strode through the opened door. He carried himself like a man who was used to being taken seriously by everyone he met.

Was that an _earring_?

His voice was unexpectedly mild for someone as imposing as he appeared. "It is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland." He crossed his arms and bowed at the waist in Father's direction.

It might be unkind to delight in seeing Arl Howe wrong-footed, but it didn't make it any less amusing. The look on his face was a mix of alarm and confusion as he blurted out, "Your Lordship, you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present!"

Father seemed surprised by Howe's outburst. "Duncan arrived just recently, unannounced. Is there a problem?" The eyebrow he raised was one that she knew well: he was daring Howe to talk himself into a corner.

Howe seemed to cast about for an appropriate response. "Of course not, but a guest of this stature demands certain protocol. I am… at a disadvantage."

What in Thedas was Howe talking about? Certain protocol? There was no special protocol for greeting Grey Wardens. Did Howe take a blow to the head recently?

Father shook his head slightly and seemed content to simply ignore Howe and continue on with whatever this meeting was about. "Duncan, this is Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine. You might have missed us entirely had his troops not been delayed." Duncan only nodded in Howe's direction rather than giving him a full salute, and Nola decided that she liked this man.

"And this is my daughter, Lady Fionnuala. Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?"

Her face burned. How could Father imply that she didn't know who the blessed _Grey Wardens_ were and couldn't possibly have known if her tutor hadn't handed her the information? Did he forget the enormous library his own father had collected and the number of times she'd forgotten meals and sleep curled beside the hearth with one volume or another? Brother Aldous was more likely to _induce_ sleep than prevent it. Father was subtly paying her back for being rude to Arl Howe.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and let him know that he'd hit his mark. "_Of_ _course_ I know who the Grey Wardens are, Father. They are an order of great warriors, who defeated the darkspawn and ended the Fourth Blight four hundred years ago."

Father's condescension didn't mean she shouldn't greet Duncan properly. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and bent at the waist slightly in a formal salute. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Commander." Three pairs of masculine eyebrows rose. But just because she was a noble and he was outside Ferelden's traditional social and political structure didn't mean he wasn't due extraordinary respect as Commander of the Grey.

"And please, call me Nola." The very last thing she needed was Fergus overhearing anyone other than Mother and Father calling her Fionnuala, what with his tendency to call her "Finn" for days afterward. Sometimes he acted younger than his own son. And Maker forbid Duncan thought he should call her "Pup." Would "Lady Pup" make it better? She found that unlikely.

Father continued. "Duncan is here looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Grey Wardens in the south. I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore."

Duncan gave her an appraising look. "If I might be so bold, I would suggest that your daughter is also an excellent candidate."

Really? That was an interesting alternative to being paraded in front of every noble in Thedas in hopes of making a match that wouldn't drive her insane.

Father apparently disagreed. He stepped between her and Duncan protectively. "Honor though that might be, this is my daughter we're talking about."

She peeked over her father's shoulder at Duncan. "Is there a reason I shouldn't join them?"

Father said over his shoulder, "I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them all off to battle." Then he faced Duncan again and continued, "Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription?"

Duncan raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Have no fear. While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue."

With a sigh, Father relaxed and turned to address her again. "Can you be sure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

Now it was her turn to needle Father a bit. "Don't strain my abilities or anything."

Father couldn't help but smile just a little. "And don't strain my patience. In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me."

She curtsied politely and assured him that she would see to it immediately. Leaving the hall, she closed the door behind her, leaned against the rough stone wall and drew a deep breath.


End file.
